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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29719398">Red Cheeks</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/AbusiveLittleBun/pseuds/AbusiveLittleBun'>AbusiveLittleBun</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Peaky Blinders (TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Anal Fingering, Angst, Bottom Tommy Shelby, Childhood Trauma, Dirty Talk, Dom/sub Undertones, Dubious Consent, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Grinding, Hair-pulling, Homophobic Language, Hurt No Comfort, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Implied/Referenced Underage Sex, M/M, Name-Calling, Parent/Child Incest, Prostitution, Rape/Non-con Elements, Sibling Incest, Slut Shaming, Tommy Shelby Needs a Hug</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-02-26</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-02-26</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-15 18:47:29</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Rape/Non-Con</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>5,964</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/29719398</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/AbusiveLittleBun/pseuds/AbusiveLittleBun</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Number 11 for the Peaky Rare Pair Bingo: Accidental Stimulation</p><p>Tommy was a pretty boy. Far too pretty, if you ask John. Or Arthur. Or their father. Or anyone with functioning fucking eyes.</p><p>Inspired by @lasciateognisperanza</p><p>Please be mindful of the tags for your own well-being</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Arthur Shelby Sr./Tommy Shelby, Arthur Shelby/Tommy Shelby, John Shelby/Tommy Shelby</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>15</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>51</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>Peaky Blinders Rare Pair Bingo 2020</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Red Cheeks</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>This is largely inspired by my friend Lisa (her ao3 is   lasciateognisperanza check her out!!!) and our dms where we lose our minds, so a large amount of credit is rightfully hers with supplying me with the best ideas!!<br/>I just wanted to explore John's and Tommy's relationship further through John's eyes and it's just so fascinating that I felt the need to share.</p><p>Changed title!</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Tommy was a pretty boy. Far too pretty, if you ask John. Or Arthur. Or their father. Or anyone with functioning fucking eyes.</p><p>He was prettier than the girls in school. Prettier than John's sandbox crush, Lizzie Stark. It was a gift and a curse given by their mother that haunted Tommy throughout his life from a young age. He learned to live with the constant nagging by other men, ignored it, or gave one of his icy cold glares as if he were above it all. As if he didn't secretly enjoy it. The pretentious little tart.</p><p>It was dad that pointed it out first to John, that Tommy is just playing hard to get, that he actually craves this sort of attention.</p><p>It was on a lazy summer afternoon; John was sitting on the wooden fence in front of their door, catching his breath and enjoying the rare warm sunshine, letting it toast the freckles on his skin, his shirt still damp and stinky from running around with his friends all day, playing robbers. His hands were dirty and sticky from the licorice he stole from the sweets shop down the road, the shopkeep's yelling still ringing in his ears, and he tried to rub the residue off on his trousers when dad leaned on the wood next to him.</p><p>It startled John enough that he almost fell off. His father rarely tried to interact with him out of the blue. His whiskey and cheap smoke scent hit him first; the stench he associated with home, then when he turned around, he saw his greasy hair falling into his eyes, his strong chin jutting out, his tan skin affected by the heat like John's paler face. </p><p>John never looked anything like their father. He somehow found it offensive that he would look more like their mother; he had the same pale, freckled skin, the same full mouth, and light eyes just like Tommy. But Tommy was even more like mom. The perfect mirror image of young Bernadette. They were basically twins if he let his hair grow long again like when they were small. Tommy cut it short after mom drowned, though, no longer mommy's pretty little dress-up doll. He couldn't look in the mirror for months. He was still called Bernadette Jr or Dettie by dad on occasions when Sr was more drunk than usual. John thought it was a form of endearment, but it was spoken with such venom that he knew better than question why Tommy paled at the name.</p><p> John thought about saying hi, but the thought itself scared him; what if he was in trouble? What if he annoys his father away as one wrong step scares away a deer in the woods? John still felt like he should somehow acknowledge his father's presence; it was the proper thing to do after all. He bit his tongue, sticky-sweet taste lingering, and looked over to him. But dad's gaze wasn't on John.</p><p> No, it was trained firmly on Tommy, who was coming back from the market with Finn on his hip and in his other hand a woven basket containing some flour and discounted vegetables. Usually, Poll goes with him, but now she was too busy with her own children. Michael was just starting school.</p><p> Finn was nibbling on Tommy's shirt collar, opened to battle the heat, and let some cool breeze wash over his boney chest. Some working men grabbed after him and said a few crude words like they've done before with young ladies strolling down the street, but Tommy just walked on with red cheeks and his lips bitten the same color, pretending as if he didn't even hear them, trying to hike the heavy basket higher on his thin forearm. Dad didn't move to help him in the slightest. The men probably knew why but John didn't.</p><p> When Tommy noticed their father, his eyes widened momentarily before his stoic expression was forced back on. He hurriedly tried to cover up the exposed skin and walked faster to the door without a word, careful not to make eye contact, not even when dad slapped his backside as he passed them. </p><p>"What a little tease," his father chuckled. "Prancing around like a two penny hooker waiting for someone to snatch him off the street and stuff his molly mouth and sissy trap. Watch how his cheeks heat up at the attention. Like a bashful maiden with a dirty mind. Promise me, Johnny boy, that you'll never become a nancy like little Tommy here, hm?"</p><p>John was too young then to understand what most of those words meant, only twelve years old, but he just nodded eagerly, trying to please his father. He didn't want to get treated like Tommy.</p><p>He thought before that Tommy's face reddened from anger like Arthur's did when he was about to throw punches. But dad took him under his arm and explained that no, Arthur's entire head gets red, and the veins pop out of his forehead because he's a warm-blooded man that can fight till death. Tommy sports a girly blush that women pay to put on their faces with products to seem more enticing to men. </p><p>And John was confused.</p><p>Was Tommy then pretty on purpose? Was he blushing to entice men? And dad said yes, so be careful with him because it is awfully effective, and it will lead you to your downfall like a siren would with a sailor. John proudly told dad that girls are icky, not mentioning Lizzie, so Tommy can't entice him either, nevermind that he didn't fully comprehend the meaning of the word, and dad ruffled his hair and gave one of his rough chesty laughs and told him he was going to be a strong man like him and Arthur. Not a fucking pansy like Tommy. And John fucking beamed.</p><p> Dad barely acknowledged his existence before, not since Finn was born three years ago and he became a middle child, so every little validation was like water in the desert for his young mind. </p><p>Even if that cost degrading the one sibling that raised him as if he were his mother.</p><p>Tommy had too much power over him. It's true, he took care of the house and cooked the food along with aunty Poll, but sometimes it angered John how Tommy kept acting like a mother hen even when he said he doesn't have time to play house anymore. Tommy kept droning on at him to fold his clothes, get out of bed, get in bed, brush his teeth, take off his shoes, eat his celery, don't say those words. He was only three years older; why was he the boss?</p><p>But Tommy was still below dad, something their father often reminded Tommy of with a tight grip on his hair or on his chin, forcing him against the wall and seething dirty words that John only later recognized, but no one could boss dad around.</p><p> While Tommy scoffed at John for walking in the house with muddy shoes, he just silently went after their father with a mop when he did the same. Tommy would pinch his ear if John said something mean, but dad could say anything, and Tommy would have to take it without a word. Take the hits too and muffle his pathetic noises when dad bent him over the kitchen table and struck him with his hands or his belt. And John had an odd satisfaction from seeing Tommy taken down a peg or two after playing queen of the house.</p><p>He would silently stare as Tommy scrambled for purchase on the wood, sniffling and biting his lips raw, the same color spreading on his cheeks the more dad hit it and John found his belly feeling fuzzy and his trousers growing uncomfortable.</p><p>John sometimes imagined that dad was punishing Tommy in his name too. Why else would he hurt him so often, even when it was unprompted?</p><p> He noticed how almost every night their father would open their bedroom door, and Tommy would silently climb out of the bed the three boys shared, - Arthur, Tommy, and him-, and walk out on trembling legs, and John would hide his smirk in the pillow, knowing that Tommy would be getting punished. He didn't know for what or how; he only knew that  Tommy would limp back in the early hours of the morning with more marks and stifle his sobs in Arthur's chest, who would pull him close and pity him with kind words and kisses to his forehead, squeezing him in a hug. </p><p> Sometimes John felt pitying too and caressed his back as Tommy did for him when they were small to get him to fall asleep, careful and soft. In the dark, John didn't see the bruises clearly, but he knew they must have been painful because Tommy would flinch and wince at the touch. John would then kiss the spot he just rubbed for the pain to fly away. Another thing Tommy would do with his scraped knee or bruise on his arm. Tommy would then turn and hug him to his chest, and John would feel warm and happy, knowing it worked. John sometimes loved Tommy more than anything else in the world.</p><p>But then, in the morning, Tommy would tear the blanket off him and tell him he's late for school, and his resentment would resurface. It annoyed him how Tommy didn't stay broken and jumped back into his commanding role in a short time. Ignoring how he was snuggling with Arthur and John like a scared kid mere hours before, how he relied on their warmth. He ignored it like he ignored the men that called out to him, and John remembered that's called enticing.</p><p>He barely got any praise from Tommy either, and he didn't know why he wanted it in the first place, but it still hurt that he cared more about stupid baby Finn who cried endlessly and took up all of Tommy's attention. John didn't mind admitting that sometimes he thought about pushing Finn into the cut, to reclaim his position as the youngest child. He would do Tommy a favor too. He's been taking care of him ever since dad dropped him into his arms as a newborn, unwilling to raise it himself, so Tommy must have wanted a bit of a break. Although, he might like to be a mother too much.</p><p>John remembered how they would play house and Tommy would always play the mommy and Arthur the daddy and John as the baby. Ada thought playing house was dumb, so she would just ask Polly to teach her how to read and write and burrow her nose in books, so the three of them would be all they needed. Their own little family. Until Finn. And John was no longer special for his play-parents. Arthur and Tommy still acted like a daddy and mommy, but now they had a new fucking kid, cradling and rocking the noisy baby and cooing at him together while John got discarded to play with boys his own age. It lit a rage in him that could only be subsided by dad's punishments; busting Arthur's nose, spanking Tommy with his belt, calling them wimp and whore respectively. John was often bothered by being overlooked but not when it came to dad's rage.</p><p>He feared dad, they all did, but just like Arthur, he admired him too, aching to follow in his footsteps, to become the fearsome big man that couldn't be bossed around. The man that could break Tommy and make him cry. Have him vulnerable and weak under him. But he also wanted Tommy to love and cherish him as he did with Finn. Or as he did with Arthur. </p><p>Being rocked in his embrace was sweet, but he also wanted to step out of his role of the baby and try being the daddy once. Kiss Tommy and call him darling like Arthur did when they were kids. Or how he still does behind the stables or under the covers when they think John is asleep and they make wet noises as they embrace and rock the bed. It was unfair that Tommy said they're too big to play house now, but he still plays it with Arthur at night, even if he is eight years older than John, whispering love confessions in his mouth as they eat each other's face, and Tommy hugs him with his thighs around Arthur's waist.</p><p>Arthur was so lucky. He could still play with Tommy even when he was already grown up and get dad's praise and looks. Arthur grew out his facial hair at twenty and boxed ruthlessly the way dad did, becoming his mirror image like Tommy became mom's. Even if John wasn't as lucky in the mustache department, he still wanted what Arthur had and tried to mimic him and his dad, building muscle and training even after their father left and didn't come back.</p><p>He didn't know why he did it. None of them did as far as John knew. All that was certain is that Arthur was sad, and Tommy felt freer and more burdened with it, trying to support their family any way they could.</p><p> Arthur was proud of the work he did, brought along John too for their odd jobs and thieving but what Tommy did for work was a mystery to him for a long time. He always seemed more tired, limping into the kitchen and put down a larger amount of bills than either of them combined. When asked, Tommy only said he made deals. </p><p>The first time John scoffed that Tommy should share his source, but then Polly replied instead of Tommy with a cruel chuckle that "only Tommy was built for that kind of job in this family." John would have said that was unfair if not for how Tommy rushed to the bathroom and threw up right after.</p><p>The bruises on Tommy's body resurfaced, even with dad gone, and sometimes he found Tommy crying in the tub, but he never asked about it. Especially not after seeing Tommy on his knees behind an alley with his head bobbing between the butcher's legs when he was fifteen. At that point, he knew what it meant and why they had fresh meat for dinner.</p><p>He wolfed down the delicious roast and watched as Tommy didn't take a bite of it and only nibbled on some stale bread while making sure the others had plenty. He even refrained from looking at the meat as if it caused him personal offense. As if putting some good food in his mouth would be worse than putting the old fat butcher's cock in there and sucking on it. And John thought dad was right all along. Tommy was a fucking whore.</p><p>John thought about asking Arthur if he knew, but of course, he did; why else would he treat Tommy like a saint and envelope him in a hug and tell him it's all okay when Tommy had the shakes? But Arthur used him too, that he knew now, just like all those men that were regulars to Tommy's services. Only Tommy let him do it for free. And he saw how dad was right again, and Tommy could entice even his own brother, make Arthur follow him around like a guard dog, and beat up the men that were too rough or didn't pay up. All for sweet kisses and hushed whispers at night with their bed rocking gently against John's wall. Now, all three of them had their own bedroom, but they always found their way back to each other's bed at night.</p><p>John listened and spitefully thought Arthur failed their father, and Tommy successfully enticed him like a siren, made him his soldier, the victim between his thighs, all while he jacked his own cock trying to match the pace of the thuds of the headboard.</p><p>Arthur was a devotee worshipping his personal Mary Magdalene, Tommy moaned his blessings in turn, and John both condemned and envied them for it.</p><p>He would dream about taking Arthur's place, or get let in their bed and join them, or close his eyes and try to imagine Tommy's face while he pounded away in some girl later. Tommy's allure was something that kept driving him out of his mind; he wasn't immune, just like all those other men. Just like dad. Now he knew why he would take Tommy away at night, and when John sneaked after them, he'd see Tommy pressed into the sheets with dad grunting above him. Maybe that's why he left.</p><p>At eighteen, John was bigger than Tommy, much bigger in every regard, even bigger than Arthur too a bit, the meat sticking to his bones more effectively. He liked to show off their size difference, put more importance on it than anybody else, and loomed over Tommy with his muscles showing and his deepened voice rumbling. Tommy didn't act intimidated, only rolled his eyes and went back to whatever he was doing, dismissing John as just a simple teenager having his fun. He still treated him like a kid. Acted like he wasn't a well-known whore of the town, but someone important. Like he was John's fucking boss. Or his mother.</p><p>And John sometimes felt like he was going to burst from it.</p><p>Like now when Tommy threw his door open, frightening him to wakefulness after he knew that John was trying to sleep out his hangover, but as always, he was a selfish fucking cunt.</p><p>"John, it's the bloody afternoon; get your arse down to the kitchen and eat something," Tommy didn't sound angry or mean, just tired and hurried as he gathered John's dirty clothes piled on the floor messily in the laundry basket on his hip. Fucking nancy. "Go, or Arthur and Finn will eat the last egg too. And then go out and get some more. I made a list of stuff for you to buy and put it together with the money under the salt jar. Get up. I have to change your sheets too."</p><p>John held tightly onto the blanket Tommy tugged on gently, groaning as the sunlight hit his newly opened eyes. He was still in the age where a hangover could be shaken off fairly easily, but he felt moody and mean because the thing that made him drink so heavily last night was Tommy in the first place, so he felt entitled to his hangover rest.</p><p> He decided to get shitfaced with his mates after seeing Tommy bent over in the alley behind the bar, clutching onto the wall desperately while Freddie Thorne wheezed against his back and fucked him like a fucking dog.</p><p> John wondered while drinking if Freddie was a paying customer, or like Arthur free of charge. Something told him it was the latter, maybe because Freddie looked a lot like Arthur. Who looked just like their father. So John wouldn't have a chance.</p><p>Tommy gave a harsher tug on the blanket when he thought John fell back to sleep by his motionlessness, and it left John cold and bare except for his underpants on the bed. </p><p>"God, why are you such a bitch?" John grunted into the pillow before that was tugged out from under him too.</p><p>"Because you need me to be," Tommy answered nonchalantly. John asked him this question many times before, so the word lost its weight to Tommy compared to how he was wide-eyed and still from it the first time. "Get up, or your breakfast will be gone."</p><p>Tommy hit him gently with the pillow after shedding the cover off of it, and as if it was the final drop to an overflowing cup, it irritated John into motion, suddenly lunging at Tommy and grabbing him around his tiny waist, throwing him over his shoulder and onto the bed, wrestling him down onto his belly. Tommy groaned and tried to fight his way out, but John was far stronger and had him securely under his weight, and the helpless whining made John giggle. They wrestled a bit when they were kids, but more with Arthur, who was always a greater challenge. Tommy was shit at fighting. </p><p>Tommy huffed after realizing there was no way out of this on his own and grumbled into the bed, "John, stop fucking playing. I've got things to do, get off."</p><p>"You started it." John easily held down Tommy when he tried to buck him off, laughing at the smaller boy's weak efforts, but quieting down at the feeling of Tommy's backside rubbing against his crotch as he tried to push him off. He only noticed now that the position they were in, Tommy on his belly with John above him and pinning him down, was just like how he saw Arthur and dad treat Tommy late at night. The position John never could achieve before, but so many men did. John licked his lips and weighed his hips down more. "Call me daddy, and I'll consider it."</p><p>Tommy gave an outraged noise, "Like fucking hell, get off, now. This is not fucking funny, John."</p><p>John found himself leaning into Tommy's efforts, the friction through the thin material of his pants feeling increasingly pleasurable the more Tommy trashed. His hands tightened on Tommy's wrists, and he kicked his thighs apart to nestle between them, ignoring how Tommy tried to kick him off. John tried to keep up the playfight act, giving breathless laughs at Tommy's cursing, silently hoping to get him to move his hips more, and his cock quickly filled up from the situation. </p><p>Tommy's pale, delicate neck was only a few centimeters from his mouth, his boney shoulders trying to move against John's hold under the overly large shirt he shared with Arthur and said shirt was riding up his waist to reveal the small of his back. It was impossible for John not to get painfully hard from that image alone.</p><p>He noticed a purple hickey beneath Tommy's collar at his nape, and he wondered if Freddie put it there or if Arthur did after he came back. And the next thing he knew, he had his teeth sinking into the spot, tasting Tommy's sweet skin. John found it funny how the salt of Tommy's sweat was switched to sugar. It was like morning dew. And Tommy cried like a little songbird. The pansy.</p><p>"You fucking-, ah, John, get the fuck off, or I swear to God I'll-, ah," Tommy froze with a barely audible whimper as John ground his crotch down harder into his bucking hips. He probably just realized that his prominent erection was digging into his cheeks.</p><p>John was still not awake enough to think about the consequences, only about how fucking good it felt to rub his dick against the soft rump and took advantage of Tommy's stillness, humping against him as those men did that made Tommy moan so prettily. He wanted to fuck those sounds out of Tommy too. Maybe he wasn't sleepy, just enticed.</p><p>John lapped at the bitemark he left behind on the milky white skin, noticing the spots of blood where he broke the skin, and the shudder that that elicited out of Tommy had him snap out of his shock.</p><p>"John... get off, this is not fucking funny anymore," Tommy tried to get the authority back into his voice, but he sounded small and bashful. Playing the innocent fucking virgin. Enticing him further. What a little tease. "I can feel your fucking... morning wood against me, you idiot."</p><p>"And whose fucking fault is that?" John breathed against Tommy's scalp, his nose parting his hair and inhaling his scent. Fuck, how he missed sniffing Tommy from when they shared a bed. He always had this flowery sweet, intoxicating scent that helped him with falling asleep. Through the mud, through the stable smell and dad's cologne, that violet scent remained. They didn't even have soap like that.</p><p>"Yours, you fucking bastard-," Tommy tried to trash against him again, attempting to squirm out under his arm, but John took his wrists and wrenched them back. He held them together behind his back and pressed him down by his waist. He was so weak; John could probably hold him down with only one hand. Too busy playing mommy instead of building muscle like a normal man. So John did, grasping those skinny little wrists in his left hand, while with the right, he pulled Tommy up by his hair, making him arch his back. Like he arched it for Freddie fucking Thorne.</p><p>"No, it's yours for shoving your fucking ass onto my dick like I was another one of your customers," John snarled into Tommy's ear, and the trashing stopped again.</p><p>Tommy stilled so much so that John thought he stopped breathing altogether. Tommy never told him outright about his profession. He probably hoped John would never find out or thought he was too dumb to notice. Like he was a fucking kid.</p><p>"What? Everyone knows you're a fucking whore, Tommy, don't try to deny it. You sold yourself to the entire male population to Birmingham already; my mates only ever talk about how well you fucking serviced them." That was actually partly true, but John didn't want to add that he beat most of them into a pulp for it.</p><p>"Get off." Tommy's voice was fragile in its authority, but he still tried to act like he was the one in control. John tugged on his hair harder. "Get the fuck off, John."</p><p>"Is that how you finish your fucking men too? Because truth be told, I thought you'd be more talented by what I've heard. Or what I've seen." Tommy was trembling. John licked his neck again, tasting blood and violets and ground against him shallowly. "Don't be surprised for getting caught if you bend over or get on your fucking knees in alleys. Or let Arthur fuck you in the same bed we shared while I'm still fucking in it. You wanted me to know about it, didn't you? Were you advertising yourself to me?"</p><p>Tommy swallowed and stuttered his weak excuses, "That's not-, you don't fucking know what you-, fucking-, let me go, John, now." </p><p>John felt delight pool in his belly. Was Tommy going to cry? From this angle, John couldn't see his face, but his ears were flaming red. He was blushing. Like a bashful maiden with a dirty mind, dad added in his mind. He was acting like this to entice John. He should be a stronger man and resist the temptation, but he remembered that Arthur and dad also fell victim to it, so it was alright. </p><p>He let go of Tommy's hair, letting his face flop back down into the bed but only so he could drag Tommy's loose trousers and pants off to pool at the top of his thighs with his now free hand. He had fucking hickeys on his ass too. What a fucking whore.</p><p>"John, please," Tommy annoyingly whined against the sheets, "please just let me go. I won't be mad, just get off now, okay?"</p><p>John contemplated it for a moment before taking a handful of Tommy's buttocks and squeezing. He had a better ass than any of the girls John has fucked despite being a scrawny little thing. Had plumper lips too. And Polly's words about Tommy being made for that kind of job rung in his head.</p><p>"I told you. Call me daddy, and I'll consider it."</p><p>"John, I will not fucking-,"</p><p>John's hit was loud like a gunshot as he slapped Tommy's cheek right across those fucking hickeys. The sound Tommy made was between a gasp and a mewl. John stared in fascination at how his ass jiggled and reddened, his handprint clearly visible after a minute. Now he knew why dad spanked Tommy so often. It felt fucking exhilarating.</p><p>He dug his fingers meanly into the tender flesh, relishing in Tommy's quiet wince as he spoke again, his voice dropping deeper and rougher from arousal.</p><p>"Call me daddy. Fucking do it, Tommy, or I'll beat your ass bloody like he did."</p><p>Tommy buried his face into the bed to muffle his groan as John slapped him again, on the same fucking spot as well, to make it sting more. He held out for five more slaps then turned his head to breathlessly beg.</p><p>"Stop it, John, fucking-, stop. I'll do it. I will, just-, fuck," Tommy's voice sounded rough and desperate, his face red like his other cheeks, and his hair fell into his eyes. John felt the urge to brush it back gently with the hand he has been beating him with, so he did. He didn't want to miss Tommy's tears spilling.</p><p>Tommy's eyes were shining brightly with unshed moisture, his pupils dilated wide, and his heaving rosy mouth bitten fat and juicy. He was just so fucking pretty, John had to give his own cock a squeeze to not blow his load right there in his pants.</p><p>"...Please, d-daddy." Tommy's whimper was way too quiet.</p><p>"Louder." John shoved his own pants down his thighs; he couldn't fucking take it anymore. "You fucking sissy." </p><p>When Tommy only bit more at his molly mouth and stayed silent, John slapped his ass again before pushing his cock between his cheeks. He parted them roughly and spit in between to ease the friction and groaned as he rocked into it. Tommy was trembling. It felt fucking delicious.</p><p>"Please, daddy." Tommy whined, now a little louder, his tears and drool dripping onto the bedding, "Please, daddy, get off."</p><p>"Is this familiar to you?" John huffed above him, humping Tommy's spit slick cheeks, "Did you say that to him too? Or did you beg him not to get off? Is that why you became a hooker? You missed him so much?"</p><p>Tommy sobbed and buried his face back into the bed to hide away, to fucking entice him more. John dug his hand under Tommy's hipbone, lifting his ass up and out more for him, and found his tiny little cock dripping and painfully hard. </p><p>"Bloody hell, you did. You fucking love it so much, look at you," John squeezed him; his fist could completely envelop Tommy's weeping member, so much smaller than John's cock, and he felt delighted from how Tommy was shaking and mewling into the bed, struggling not to rock into the sensation. "You're fucking wet from this like a bloody girl. Ruining my fucking sheets and trying to get me off; you really are a shameless slut. Seducing your brothers as well as your father. You're so disgusting, Tommy."</p><p>"I didn't-, I'm not, I-I-..., John, please."</p><p>"Say you're a filthy whore, and I'll let you go. Go on. Apologize too." John was grinding against him now the way he wanted to fuck him, panting into Tommy's ear. It felt so fucking good. He was going to finish embarrassingly fast. "Say it, Tommy, fuck. Say it, or I'll fuck you raw."</p><p>Tommy swallowed a sob and arched his back instinctively, "I'm- ah, I'm a filthy whore. I'm sorry, daddy, I'm so sorry, I'm disgusting."</p><p> Tommy was crying with uncontrollable hiccups, and it was so fucking beautiful John had to thrust against him harder, once, twice, three times before painting the flaming cheeks with his load with a low groan, parting them to get some of it on Tommy's empty hole.</p><p>"Here you go," John wrung the last of it onto his crack and thrust a finger roughly inside, only eased by his come, making Tommy squirm, "this is what you like, right? You need something inside your cunt? Go, get off then, Tommy," he thrust in another finger next to the first, knuckle deep, but didn't move them. "If you want me to let you go, make yourself get off like the pansy you are."</p><p>John was curious to explore inside Tommy's tight hole further, but he craved to see him humiliate himself more, so he willed his fingers to stay still as Tommy hesitated before whimpering as he slowly started dragging his hips back and forth on John's fingers. Did he even realize how slutty he looked? Tommy ground his hips back shakily but in a clear rhythm and technique that was familiar to him. He knew how to get off with just his ass alone. With his sissy trap. What a fucking molly.</p><p>John recalled fingering girls, and his interest got the better of him, making him curl his fingers and press down just as Tommy ground back, and oh, what a pretty noise he made. What a pretty fucking noise. John rubbed harder on the spot, thrusting in and out roughly, wanting to hear more of it, and groaned at the sight.</p><p>"I should've fucked you sooner."</p><p>Tommy's thighs quivered around him before he came his brains out onto the sheets with a muffled whine.</p><p>John was breathless as he pulled his fingers out, he could feel his own face heating up as he scissored his digits to get a look inside. It was pretty and pink and slick with his come, and he couldn't even think about it before he blurted out, "You really have a beautiful pussy, huh. Just like the rest of you."</p><p>He suddenly felt embarrassed by the weight of the situation, a bit repulsed by himself, so he wiped his fingers on Tommy's shirt and let him go completely. Tommy fell limply onto the bed like a ragdoll and heaved for air with his red face half-hidden, but the part that wasn't was wet and red and fucking gorgeous. He understood why everyone wanted to ruin him like this now. </p><p>John climbed out from between his thighs, took off his dirty pants, and used the soft material to clean himself before throwing it at Tommy's face and picking up some new clothes, leaving Tommy shivering and exposed on the bed. The light made the cooling come on his ass glisten obscenely, and John had to turn away from those haunting crystal eyes looking out of the world like a corpse. A flushed, sniffling, lovely corpse that John wanted to stick his cock in more than anything and fuck him like an animal, but instead, he just threw open his door and grunted back after putting his clean clothes on.</p><p>"Change the sheets and get out."</p><p>He still felt the heat of Tommy on his hands, around his fingers, like licorice, couldn't be wiped off, as he rushed down the stairs where the others just finished breakfast, empty dirty plates piling up by the sink for Tommy to wash. Arthur greeted him with a bright dumb smile. </p><p>"John-boy! Sleeping through half the day, are you?" No, violating your little brother more like, "Get in here, and eat a bite, we have to go out and get some things right after. Tommy left your portion on the stove, told us he'd take our fingers if we touch it, so thank him for that later."</p><p>John blankly stared at the plentiful breakfast plate kept warm just for him, and he knew Arthur and Finn must have taken at least a little bit from it, thieving hands and all that, but it seemed so much. Tommy must have given him his own portion too. Always said John is still growing, he needs it more. His eyes itched, and his throat felt swollen, and he felt like he was going to throw up. He had to get out of here.</p><p>"I'm not hungry. Let's just fucking go."</p><p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>If you liked this leave a kudo and a comment, I'm interested in your thoughts as I plan to continue this and find me on Tumblr for more art and writing @abusivelittlebunny</p></blockquote></div></div>
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